


Geni(us)

by LadyVegeets



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Genie - Freeform, Magic Lamp, Vegebul, djinn, october tale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-05-16 02:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19308409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVegeets/pseuds/LadyVegeets
Summary: Where “rubbing the lamp” isn’t used as a euphemism. Mostly.





	1. Chapter 1

******~1~**

 

The puff of smoke dissipated and Vegeta rolled his neck to stretch it out for the first time in decades.

“Holy shit,” a woman’s voice exclaimed. “The old man was telling the truth.”

He narrowed his eyes against the last tendrils of smoke and saw through to a young woman standing over his lamp. She was one of the prettiest people to have ever released him, with a stylish teal bob-cut and matching blue eyes, and skin fairer than he was used to seeing. He might have been charmed were it not for a deep-seated distrust of his masters, especially after that last one.

His fingers tightened over crossed arms, squeezing back those memories.

“I am Vegeta, genie of the lamp—” he began.

“No way!” the woman gushed, leaning over the table between them, her eyes bursting with excitement.

He tripped at her interruption. No one interrupted him. They were usually too slack-jawed or polite to do so. He scowled and plowed on. “Rejoice and _be humbled_ , for I have the power to grant you three wishes.” His tone belied his words, more irritated than wondrous.

“Why?”

He blinked. It was only one word, one simple word, but it took several seconds for his mind to process it — or attempt to. What did she mean, why? Perhaps he misunderstood. He hazarded a guess. “Why only three?” It wasn’t an uncommon complaint.

“No,” she corrected. “Why do you grant wishes? What’s in it for you?”

He blinked again and wondered if he hadn’t been in the lamp longer than he realized. She wasn’t responding the way she was supposed to. It felt like he was missing chunks of conversations. Perhaps he was sick. Could genies get sick? He hadn’t thought so, but this scenario was putting up a pretty good case for it. “What does it matter?” he snapped. “I don’t think you understand the magnitude of what I’m offering. Near-limitless potential for anything your little human mind could fathom.”

“A-ha! So there _is_ a limit!” She punctuated her point with an index finger to her palm. “I knew it. Shenron has limits too.”

“Shenron?”

“A wish-granting dragon.”

Vegeta felt the beginnings of a migraine. “A _what_?”

The woman grinned. It was gorgeous and a little disconcerting. “I think you heard me. You’re not my first wish-granting…uh…being.”

That was greatly unexpected. He wasn’t aware such a creature even existed. He shifted his weight to his other foot, feeling his grasp on the situation slip away like sand tilted in a box, sifting from his end to hers. He raised his chin and puffed up his chest to bolster himself. “I think you’ll find me far superior to any dragon.”

She leaned back with a knowing smile and twinkle in her eyes, shrugging one shoulder. “I dunno, pal. Shenron’s been pretty good to me and there’s none of that iffy monkey-paw be-careful-what-you-wish-for nonsense with his wishes. Can you promise me the same?”

He leaned forward with a dark smirk and a darker fire in his eyes. “ _Try me_.”

She regarded him, weighing the risk. Her eyes didn’t flinch from his. Unashamedly they trailed down to take him in, gliding over his bare chest, gold shoulder plates, and gold bands around his left bicep and both wrists. Finally she looked down at his lamp. “Nah. On second thought, I think I’m good.”

He blinked, and blinked again, his smile faltering. “…What?” Had…had she just _turned him down_?

“I said I don’t need anything. I’m good. What about you?”

_What?_

“You hungry?”

His arms fell to his side. “What?” he repeated, this time with the hint of panic in his voice.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “C’mon, follow me. Kitchen’s upstairs.”

 

~xox~

* * *

 

 **AN:** Based on a short story by Neil Gaiman, “October Tale”.


	2. Chapter 2

****Vegeta stood helpless in the kitchen as his new ‘master’ made them sandwiches, the kettle slowly boiling on the far wall countertop. He’d followed her upstairs because what the hell else was he to do? He couldn’t return to the lamp until her wishes were fulfilled. Normally by this point he would have granted one already. Sometimes two. But this woman was still sticking to her guns about not wanting any.

He looked around the kitchen. It was nice. Wide, spacious, bright, well outfitted and decorated. He reached out with his supernatural senses and understood that this was far and beyond normal living quarters for someone of this era. Ah! Something that finally made sense.

“I see. You are rich,” he commented, pleased to have figured her out. No doubt her money could buy her a lot. _What do you get the person who already has everything_ ; isn’t that how the saying went? Well, in his experience, still a fucking lot. The wealthy were often the greediest when it came to wishes, but on occasion they had to think a little bit harder about what a genie could provide them that their money could not.

The woman just wasn’t very imaginative, that must be her problem. She didn’t yet see what an asset he could be.

He had to make her see.

Leaning over the marble kitchen island, one tanned forearm powerfully braced, his gold wrist-guard making a nice chiming sound, he gave her a feral grin. “Your wealth buys you a lot. But not quite everything. Perhaps you’ve made enemies. I can make them…disappear. At no risk to you.”

She snorted. “Please. Everyone loves me. I’m Bulma Briefs.”

Vegeta didn’t let that discourage him. He was determined, his jaw locked around his prey. He wouldn’t let go until she had succumbed.

She had to have a weakness. Money nor revenge motivated her. But her words had sparked an idea. He searched her house with his mind and his grin widened. “Speaking of love. No husband? Wife? …Harem? I can fix that. All you have to do is wish it so.”

She paused over their sandwiches, a delicate blue eyebrow arching up. “Harem? Like I need that headache.” She picked up a knife and started cutting their sandwiches in half. “Also, isn’t there some kind of rule against making people fall in love?”

He leaned in closer, his grin positively shark-like as he smelled blood in the water. She was taking his bait. “Not against _my_ rules.” What did he care about the moral implications of some meaningless humans and their hearts? He had a point to prove, his pride on the line.

She scoffed and shook her head. Piling the two sandwiches onto one plate, she slid it across the counter towards him. “No thanks. As charming as your offer is, I’ll pass.”

His smile wilted and he looked down at the sandwiches in confusion. They were both for him? When was the last time anyone had given him something without thinking of themselves first? Without asking for something in return?

“The tea will be done in a moment. Why don’t you take a seat over there. It has a nice view of the backyard. How does rooibos tea sound?”

Nothing was right. None of this was right. None of this was how it was supposed to be. For an all powerful genie, Vegeta suddenly felt very small and impotent. “Fine,” he mumbled as his understanding of the universe toppled down around him.

 

~xox~


	3. Chapter 3

****She was right, the view was nice, her garden spanning acres. The sun streamed in through the wall-to-ceiling windows and warmed his skin. Vegeta wished to close his eyes and bathe in it, but he was feeling far too vulnerable to let his guard down enough to do so.

He savored the sandwiches bite by bite as he watched the white clouds drift across the sky and the birds search the grass for bugs. It was no 5-star meal, no culinary extravaganza served on golden platters in a mighty palace that he could have conjured if wished upon, but it was the best food he had eaten in centuries.

It was the only food he had eaten in centuries.

She placed a porcelain cup on the table filled with red tea, and took a seat opposite him, a cup of the same in her hands. “How’s the food?”

He looked down at his plate where the last half of his sandwich remained, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. Gratitude was a foreign concept to him. “Passable.”

“Mm.” Her lips smirked over her teacup. “So, Vegeta, was it? Have you always been a genie?”

His eyes narrowed, suspicious of her question. But the chance to boast was too tempting to pass up. “Longer than your human brain can fathom.”

“You don’t like people much, do you?”

He tensed, eyes narrowing. “What makes you think that?”

“All your snide comments about us and our little brains, and how _grateful_ we should be for your wishes.”

The woman was more astute than he’d given her credit for.

She pulled up her knees, getting comfortable in the chair as she sipped her tea and watched him with cutting blue eyes that were starting to unnerve him. “Does your jewelry have any special significance?”

He sat up taller, squaring his shoulders. “They are a symbol of my status. I am a prince.” Or was, once. A long time ago.

A flash of curiosity lit her face. “Really? A prince of what?”

No, he didn’t want to think about that. Keeping his expression carefully schooled, he looked out the window and refused to answer.

“It looks heavy,” she noted in a soft voice after a while.

“It is.”

They allowed the silence to fill the room.

 

~xox~

 


	4. Chapter 4

****“I’m going to go for a walk outside. Would you like to come?”

He agreed. With a full belly and some time to reflect, Vegeta was ready to be back on the attack. A stroll would be the perfect opportunity to pry her for information that could lead to her wishes.

She had to want something.

They always wanted something.

He just had to get her to let her guard down. So what if she’d gotten the upper hand initially? She had been prepared—familiar with wish-granters—while he had mistaken her for just another human easily dazzled and manipulated. A mistake he would not make again.

This would not be a quick battle, but a long drawn-out war. It wasn’t his preferred modus operandi, but he could adapt.

She fetched him some folded clothes. “You should probably change if you’re gonna go out, so you don’t attract too much attention. There’s a spare bedroom down there you can use.”

A blink of his eyes would have seen him changed, but he humored her request to do it the old-fashioned way. In the spare bedroom, he removed his bindings and harem pants and set his gold pieces on the dresser. It felt strange to be without them after bearing them for so long. He pulled on the human garments: cargo pants and a black t-shirt. The top stretched tightly over his broad chest and thick biceps. A white double-C logo marked his left breast.

“I do not think this garment was made for someone of my build,” he complained as he made his way back to her, tugging on the snug t-shirt. “Your miserable human attire is…” he trailed off when he caught the look on her face.

She was staring, wide-eyed. Drinking him up from head to toe. He’d seen a lot of masters stare at him, hungry for the power he could give them. But this…this was different.

“Wow,” she breathed.

Six slow strides had her close the distance between them. He had to physically restrain himself from backing up. When she stopped right in front of him, her hands reached out and took the little cords dangling from his pants. He swallowed thickly as she began to tie them together.

“It looks really good on you,” she remarked, her delicate fingers making deft work of his ties. Firm but gentle. From under hooded blue lashes, she gave him a wry smile. “You could almost pass for human.”

He wanted to curl his lip with disdain at such an insult, but he couldn’t move, paralyzed between her clever fingers near his groin and her face only inches from his own. This close he could smell the soft perfume of her hair. It made him think of sunshine on a field of carnations. A nostalgic scent from a lifetime ago.

“There. Perfect.” She finished tying a bow and her fingers drifted to his hips. Lingering. He could feel the burn of each one through the fabric of his pants. Her touch made him ache in an unfamiliar way. He had to fight back an irrational urge to lean in.

Blue eyes met his in silent expectation. She was waiting for something. He didn’t know what, and as the seconds ticked by his unease rose and broke across his face in a blush. “Weren’t we going to walk?” he asked.

Pleaded.

She gave him an understanding smile and brushed her fingers over his t-shirt to straighten it out, the touch sending lightning bolts through his belly. “As you wish.”

The irony of her words weren’t lost on him.

She left to gather her things. He watched her walk away, his stomach curling at the loss of contact and his heart beating furiously in his chest.

Just what the hell was she?

 

~xox~


	5. Chapter 5

****Vegeta had convinced himself that she wasn’t human. Not a normal one. She couldn’t be. No way a human could shake his confidence this much, get under his skin so effectively. Perhaps she was a practitioner of the mystic arts. A witch? Not that she seemed the type, but the world had changed a lot from the one he was familiar with, and maybe witches had too.

They walked side by side. The day was beautiful, sunny and warm and with the hint of a breeze. It felt good to stretch his legs, to move his body, to feel the kiss of the outside world on his skin. He breathed in deep lungfuls of fresh air not made stale by centuries of circulation within the lamp. He itched to rip off his t-shirt and bake in the sunlight. To dig his fingers into the soil and smell the damp earth. To run and run and run until he was drenched with sweat and exhausted, relishing the strength of his body and the feeling—for however brief—of freedom.

Instead he kept pace with the woman, walking who-knew-where down the streets of suburbia. He was trying to decide how best to probe her for wishes. As it turned out, he didn’t have to be subtle. She brought up the topic on her own.

“How does it work, your wish granting?”

“You state your wish, and I grant it.” Even a goddamn child could understand the concept.

“But you said there were some limits.”

He shrugged, indifferent. “No wishing for more wishes. Raising the dead can be problematic—”

“Really?” she sounded genuinely surprised. Like there was something she knew that he didn’t.

He frowned. “You wanted someone brought back?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Not anymore. We took care of it.”

…What?

She plowed on before he could puzzle that out, animating her point with her hands as they went. “What about the actual _mechanics_ of granting a wish. If I were to wish for something like, an apple, how would you do it?”

“You want an _apple_?” he drawled, offended by the menial wish.

She gave him a coy smile. “It’s just an example, Vegeta.”

He scowled and looked away, his name echoing with the beat of his heart.

She didn’t relent. “What I mean is, how do you conjure things? It can’t be from nothing. Science doesn’t support that. So do you teleport the apple from another place, or another time maybe?”

He debated whether or not to tell her. He didn’t owe her an honest answer, or any answers in fact. But he had caught on to her curiosity; at this point, it seemed her only exploitable vice. Perhaps if he fed her just enough information, it might allow him to find some hidden desire he could encourage her to wish for.

Raising his palm, he conjured a red apple—partly to show off—and turned it about in his hand. “It quite depends on the wish. Something as simple as this I can conjure from the elements of the environment around us.” He cast her a sidelong look and smirked, offering her the fruit. She stared at it with amazement and reached out. The moment her fingers touched the red skin, he made it disappear into pink smoke taken by the breeze. He gave her a flash of feral teeth. “Wish for something more challenging and I might be tempted to tell you the process behind it.”

For an exhilarating moment he saw her consider his offer, the cogs of her mind turning. _Finally!_ Keen to press his advantage, he got in front of her to stop their stroll and summoned a tiny but bright ball of light in his palm. It spun around slowly, a miniature galaxy filled with omniscience. He held it up for her.

“Is this what you lust for, woman? Knowledge? I can give it to you. I can give you _anything you desire_. All the answers of the universe, every answer to every question can be yours. All you need do is _ask_.”

She stared longingly at the light in his hand, the glow reflected in her eyes. Then her gaze dragged up to meet his and she said, “Where would be the fun in that?”

He stared back at her, his victory turning to confusion, and then to frustration. He extinguished the light and gnashed his teeth, throwing up his arms. “I do not understand you!” he fumed, his patience gone. “Why the hell did you release me from my lamp if you weren’t going to make any wishes?”

She gave him a kind smile that bordered on pity.

Instantly, his guard went up.

“I’d like you to meet someone, if that’s alright?”

“Why?” he snapped. “Will you make three wishes on their behalf?”

“You’ll see.”

He gave her a sullen scowl and pictured turning her into a puff of smoke as he had done the apple. She started walking away, and after he got his temper back under control, he followed.

 

~xox~


	6. Chapter 6

****“Do you have any hobbies?”

“Granting wishes.”

“But what do you like to do in your free time?”

“Grant wishes.”

“Right…Do you fight?”

That got his attention. Vegeta gave her a sideways look.

She returned with a knowing smile. “I figured. With all the muscles and scars.”

He looked away. A small pebble caught his eye and he kicked it down the street. “I did.”

“Did, as in past tense?”

He thinned his mouth lest he incriminate himself further. Talking to her was dangerous. Confusing. He was out of practice. No one ever asked him questions beyond what the limitations of his wish-granting abilities were. He wasn’t prepared for topics that might lead to things he would rather not talk about.

His silence didn’t deter her. “Some of my friends are fighters. Perhaps you could spar with them?”

He scoffed. “I would rip your pathetic friends apart and half the planet with them.”

“That strong, huh?”

“Stronger,” he boasted, feeling the hint of a smile at his lips. Talking himself up never got old. “I was the strongest of my people even before I was imprisoned in that damnable lamp, and my powers have grown exponentially since. I do not squander my _free time_ , as you call it. I have trained to be without equal.”

Her brows hitched up. “Impressive. So you can still…do things? Function, within the lamp?”

“Yes.” He paused, frowning. “But…it’s not like here.”

“How so?”

His scowl deepened, not sure how to describe the reality within the lamp. “It is…another plane of existence. One does not affect the other. Time passes differently. As does awareness. Thought.” Feeling. He frowned, displeased with his inability to describe the concept well.

“A bit like a dream?” she suggested.

He glanced at her, struck by the simplicity of her definition, surprised she had understood. “…Yes. A bit.”

She grinned. Her whole face lit up with it, radiant as the sun. He swallowed back a surge of confusing fluttering sensations inside his chest and pinched his brow in consternation.

“Do you like being in the lamp?” she asked.

The question came out of left field. Loaded. Old resentments and bitter memories threatened to resurface, but he fought them off with clenched fists.

The lamp was…complicated. Both a safe place and a prison. His home and his personal hell. Vegeta had struggled for millennia to be strong enough to break free of it, but to do so he had to train within it. No other place could take the full force of his power. He needed it to be free of it. A twisted co-dependence.

And at least inside the lamp he could forget; it numbed him against what they had taken from him.

Vegeta settled on a half-truth. “It is better than dealing with your insipid kind on a daily basis.”

She rolled her eyes. “What about your kind? Can you communicate with other genies when you’re in the lamp?”

His mouth canted down, a cold spreading inside his gut. “No.”

“Oh…So you’ve been in there all this time, alone?”

He gave her a withering look. “Do not try and judge me by your human standards. I am a djinn, mighty prince of the Saiya-clan. I am not to be pitied.”

“I was only asking if you were lonely, Vegeta.” Something sad passed over her eyes. “Everyone gets lonely.”

The blue day suddenly felt too bright. Disgusted by her show of weakness—for it reminded him too much of his own—he turned away. “Tch. There’s only room for one emotion inside such a tiny lamp.”

“Which is?”

“Rage.”

 

~xox~


	7. Chapter 7

****“So. You wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about _what_?” Vegeta grouched.

“About why you’re so angry.”

“No.”

“It might make you feel better.”

“I feel fantastic.”

“Fantastically full of rage?”

He gave her a withering look that had made bigger men draw back. She did not. “It _motivates_ me.”

The woman cocked her head at an angle. “To grant wishes?”

“To get stronger.”

“Strength is important to you,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She was doing it again, analyzing him. He didn’t much care for it, but he had no room to dispute her. Strength wasn’t just important to him, it was essential. The stronger he was, the more magic he could control.

“Very.”

“Maybe I can help you?”

“ _You_?” He gave her an incredulous look. “How could a human like you possibly help me?”

She stopped walking and after two paces he noticed and turned. Her eyes had narrowed and flashed with anger. Ah. _This_ emotion he was familiar with. It made his blood quicken with anticipation. Anger felt honest. Real. He trusted it far more than her niceties.

“A _human_ like _me_ can do more than you realize if only you’d take your head out of your ass for a minute and look.”

“Woman—”

“And you can stop doing _that_ ,” she cut him off, her voice tight with indignation. She stormed up to jab an index finger between his pectorals. His nostrils flared at her audacity. “My name is Bulma, not woman or human. Do not judge me by your arrogant genie standards. I am a _genius_ , heiress and inventor to Capsule Corporation. I am not to be talked down to.”

He lifted a brow, impressed that she had used his own speech back at him. He leaned the weight of his chest against her tiny digit and gave a condescending smirk. “Genius?” he drawled. Baiting her.

She raised her chin, matching his haughty look with her own. “I found you, didn’t I?”

“That makes you lucky, not smart.”

“From where I’m standing, I’m not much of either to have gotten stuck with _you_.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he snipped back.

They glared at each other, mirror images with flushed cheeks and eyes boring venomous holes into the other.

Vegeta broke their gaze first with a click of his tongue. He withdrew enough to get out from under her finger and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just make your damn wishes already so we can both be done with this charade of civility you’ve been putting on.”

“Charade?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he admonished. “You humans are all the same. Selfish. Greedy. Destructive. Three wishes is all it takes to bring out the worst in your kind.”

“That’s unfair. You can’t just lump us all together like that.”

“Like hell I can’t. In thousands of years, I’ve never once had a master make an altruistic wish. _Never once._ Oh, but I’ve killed. And tortured. And inflicted unimaginable horrors onto others because one of _your_ kind wished it so.”

“Well I…I didn’t say we’re all perfect.” The fire had gone out of her voice. He glanced her way and saw her brow pinched, mouth turned down, eyes lowered. Her hand rubbed her arm in a poor attempt at self-comfort. It felt strange to see her so deflated. Jarring. Like finding he had trodden on a rare and beautiful flower, and crushed it by mistake. He preferred her smiling or angry. Filled with warmth and passion. Not this.

Jaw working, he tried to grind away the oppressive guilt burrowing inside his chest. “I suppose for what it’s worth, you have been…different.”

Baby-blue eyes rose up to meet his. Uncertain. “Oh?” Her mouth quirked up in a sad smile. “Because I’m pretty?”

Yes, but that wasn’t what he meant. Only she had ever called him by his name. Only she had asked him questions about himself. Fed him. Clothed him. Requested his consent before doing things. Looked at him as a man, not as a slave. She treated him like a person, like he had his own free will.

She was— _Bulma_ was—unique.

He cleared his throat and looked away. “Because of the lack of wishes,” he grumbled, as if that were the extent of her differences.

“Oh. Of course.” There was an awkward silence. Finally she sighed. “I don’t think I feel much like walking anymore.”

He uncrossed his arms and faced Bulma directly. “Wish it, and I can take you anywhere.”

“Ha, nice try, but I’ve got this one.” She fished in her pocket and threw something to the ground. It exploded in a loud bang and puff of smoke.

“The fuck?!” He stepped back, pulling her with him. Too late he realized what he’d done.

She arched a brow up at him. Amused. “Protecting your master?”

He snatched his hand back, fingers burning from where they had touched her. “Don’t get yourself killed before making your wishes, idiot!” he chastised, masking his embarrassment with annoyance and purposefully sidestepping her question.

“Relax, it’s just a capsule car.” Still smirking, she pointed to a vehicle that hadn’t been there a moment before.

His eyes widened. “You _are_ a witch.”

She burst out laughing. “Well, I’ve been called worse. But no, like I already told you, I’m a genius. C’mon, get in. I’m driving.”

 

~xox~

 


	8. Chapter 8

****They were pulling out of the suburbs, the houses growing further apart and the traffic signals less and less frequent. Bulma had no qualms about exceeding the speed limit. Vegeta stared out the window, taking in a world both familiar and new to him.

“How’s it compare?” she asked.

“To what?”

“Your home.”

He frowned, not sure which ‘home’ she meant. Since it was too complicated to describe the lamp, he chose the one before that. “My home was mostly desert. Red. Harsh. Hot. Heavily fortified.”

“Fortified? You were at war?”

“Always. Saiya-djinn were warriors. Conquerers. We took what we wanted and made it our own. Survival of the fittest. We were the strongest…Until one day, we weren’t.” Trees whipped by the window. The words seemed to come easily, as if he weren’t speaking of his own past but someone else’s. He stared out past the trees to a time the world had all but forgotten. “They came in as allies and left our annihilators. They were stronger, more cunning, better equipped. They slaughtered everyone. Women, children, the elderly. It did not matter. Those of us who’d caused the greatest offense were forced to watch the massacre before they imprisoned us in lamps for all eternity.”

“…Vegeta, I’m…I’m so sorry.”

She sounded so genuine. He glanced her way; she was watching the road as she drove, but he saw her eyes shimmering. He turned away, his throat gone dry. “Don’t be. What’s done is done.”

They drove in silence.

Soon the speed limit decreased and a small town appeared, if you could even call it that. Just a shop, a restaurant, a gas station, and a post office. Bulma pulled in.

“I’ll be right back. You need anything?”

He grunted in the negative and she left, heading inside the store. After a few minutes he decided to get out and stretch his legs, taking advantage of the country air. He’d had enough of metal cages.

She returned with two vanilla ice cream cones. “Ice cream always cheers me up,” she said while handing him one. He gave her cynical look. Like ice cream was going to make up for mass genocide.

She hopped up onto the back of the car and he joined her. “I don’t need cheering up.” He wanted to make sure that was clear. He didn’t need her pity.

“Right. Because you’re _fantastic_.”

The corner of his mouth curled up. “I am.”

She snorted and gave him a friendly nudge in the side. He tolerated it, his whole arm tingling from the contact. He ate his ice cream to distract himself from the sensation.

“You know, I visited many places like this when I was younger on my quest for adventure,” she told him, swinging her legs back and forth. Her arm ever-so-lightly brushed against his own as she did. He could have moved away, but he didn’t.

“Is it a right of passage for your people?”

She laughed. “No, not really. But I was always a bit wild. I wanted to find the dragon balls and wish for a boyfriend.”

He froze, pausing mid-bite to look up at her, black eyes meeting blue. She was smirking at him. Toying with him. Knowing this was a juicy little morsel she dangled on the proverbial line for him to gobble up.

He had, however, been burned by her one too many times. “…But this is no longer your wish?”

She grinned, pleased he had sussed her out. “Yeah, I got over that pretty quickly. Mostly because I met a cute boy. But also because I came to realize something.” She licked up the ice cream that had started to drip down her cone.

He watched her with growing impatience. “Realize what?” His own ice cream was all but forgotten in his hand. He couldn’t eat it if he wanted to. A snake of tension writhed in his belly. He was _so close_ to finding out something revolutionary about her.

Her true wish.

She licked her lips clean and shrugged. “I really just wanted a friend. A _real_ friend. Or perhaps more specifically, acceptance. Fulfillment. You know? I never really fit in anywhere. I was a pretty lonely kid. Too smart for school. Too young for academia. Too eccentric and headstrong for most men. Too pretty. Too rich. Too inquisitive. No one really cared to get past the labels they put on me and get to know _me_. The real me.”

He stared at her, letting her confession sink in. Wondering why it hit so close to home, dredging up his own insecurities and the sensations of always being on the outside looking in. Yearning for something more.

He frowned. His ice cream was half-melted. He magicked it and hers away and levered off the car.

“Hey! I was enjoying that—Oh!” Bulma stiffened with surprise when he pushed between her knees and braced his hands either side of her on the hot metal of the car trunk.

“Say it,” he told her in a deep serious voice.

A soft pink coloring dusted her cheeks. “S-say what?”

“Your wish.”

She stared at him, dumbstruck. The two of them pressed together as if about to make-out. “Vegeta, I—”

“I’ll make it so others accept you. No monkey-paw, be-careful-what-you-wish-for nonsense. I swear it on the honor of my clan.”

Her brow pinched, her eyes flicking back and forth, desperately searching his. He didn’t flinch away, ready to enact her desire to the best of his ability. He’d lost count of how many wishes had had granted over the years, but this was the first time he had _wanted_ to grant one.

Her right hand reached out and touched his forearm. “Vegeta. Thank you, but…That’s not what I want.”

“But you said—”

“That I want to be accepted for _who I am_. You can’t fabricate that. It defeats the whole point if you magically manipulate them into liking me. It wouldn’t be real.”

“They won’t know,” he protested.

“But _I_ will. I’ll know. Where would be the satisfaction in that?”

He stared at her. Perplexed. Frustrated. She was turning him down _again_ and it was getting really fucking hard not to take it personally. His fingers clenched into fists. “Why won’t you let me do this for you?”

“…I’ll tell you after we meet my friend, okay?”

He scowled at her and huffed, not understanding her one bit. But the gentle circles she rubbed on his arm helped take away the worst of the sting.

 

~xox~

 


	9. Chapter 9

****They parked in front of a modest farm-house property in the middle of fucksville-nowhere. Birds sang in the trees and butterflies danced over the flower planters.

“This is it!” Bulma announced and headed out of the car.

Vegeta followed with less enthusiasm, shoving hands into his pockets and scanning their surroundings. Both his eyes and his senses found nothing out of the ordinary. Just an average farmstead. What were they doing here? What was she up to?

Bulma grabbed his elbow and tugged him towards the house. “I think you’re going to like this,” she said with a grin. He wasn’t inclined to agree. He didn’t much care for surprises, but the hand on his arm was persuasive. Her touch was both soothing and electrifying. His whole body sang from the siren call of her fingertips.

He supposed he could tolerate one little surprise.

“Yoo-hoo!” She cupped her hands to her mouth and called out towards the house.

A moment later the door burst open and two people emerged: a small child, and a tall man with wild hair. Presumably, father and son. There was something…odd about them. Vegeta couldn’t put his finger on what, but the pair set him on edge. Especially the man; the simple farmer’s uniform and friendly smile couldn’t mask the dormant danger lying beneath his leisurely gait.

_Some of my friends are fighters._

Vegeta crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to his left leg to be closer to Bulma’s side, hackles raised as he watched the two approach.

The child reached them first, running up to hug Bulma about the legs. She ruffled his hair. “Hi, Gohan. How’s studying going?”

“Amazing! I’m reading about metamorphosis in insects.”

“Oh, nice. Still using that microscope I got you?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Good kid.” She gave him an affectionate smile and another ruffle of the head.

The boy’s eyes drifted to her companion and went very wide, his cherub face paling. He shrank back behind Bulma’s legs.

Vegeta gave the child a sinister smirk. Smart kid.

“Bulma!” The tall man reached them and, ignoring Vegeta’s looming presence, enveloped Bulma in a massive hug, actually picking her up a few inches off the ground. “You look great. How are ya?”

“I’m fine!” she laughed, patting him on the back.

Vegeta fumed, tightening his jaw and glaring at long arms that dared touch _his_ master. The hug seemed to last forever, but finally Bulma convinced the man to put her down, and she made with introductions.

“Goku, this is Vegeta—the one I told you about. Vegeta, this is the friend I wanted you to meet, Goku.”

Vegeta’s mouth thinned, stomach turning. ‘Friend’, huh? Bulma wouldn’t use that term lightly, not after what she’d told him on the back of the car. Which meant Goku was why she had turned down _his_ wishes. She had settled for this man instead of letting _him_ conjure her someone better. Tch. So much for being a genius.

She deserved better than some farmer.

She deserved the best.

“Nice to meet you, buddy!” Goku beamed like an overeager puppy dog. Vegeta didn’t return the sentiment, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Boy, you seem really strong. Do you wanna fight?”

Oh, was it really going to be that easy? A dark smile tugged on Vegeta’s lips, his blood spiking with an intoxicating need for violence. “It would be my pleasure to separate your head from your body.”

Goku pumped his fist with excitement. “Really? Neat!”

“Hey, whoa boys,” Bulma unfortunately interjected. She pressed her palm to Goku’s chest to temper his enthusiasm.

To his _chest_.

Vegeta’s mood took a rapid dive for the worst.

“That’s not why I brought him here, remember?” she chastised Goku as Vegeta eyed the splay of her fingers with growing foul jealousy.

He was snapped out of it by a question from her. “Vegeta, does Goku seem…familiar to you?”

He hardly cared. He just wanted her to stop touching the loathsome human. “No. Why the fuck would he, I just met the buffoon.”

A flash of annoyance marred her brow. “Hey, be nice, please. There are children present and you’re a guest.”

“I am no such thing. I broke bread with _you_ , not them. I’m under no obligations.”

“Well then watch your manners for my sake, please.”

“Is that your wish?” he snarked.

Her mouth pulled down, disappointment written on her face. She didn’t even answer, turning to suggest that Gohan go back inside, leaving Vegeta stewing with an ugly sensation churning in his gut. He might have called it shame were he capable of feeling such human emotions.

When the boy was gone, she placed her hands on her hips—thankfully off the farmer—and threw him a fiery glare. “Alright, spit it out. What’s with your pissy attitude all of a sudden?”

He huffed and looked away. “Nothing. I do not see why we are here. This is a waste of time.”

“How can you say that when you don’t even know why we’re here. I’m _trying_ to show you something important.”

“Like there could be anything important _here_ ,” he snapped back.

She let out a frustrated sigh and turned back to the farm. “Goku, are you suppressing your—?”

“Oh, yeah. Just a moment…”

Outwardly, nothing changed. The birds still sang, the butterflies still danced, and Vegeta’s mood rotted like a dead corpse. Then the birds scattered and Vegeta was slammed back by a massive wave of power. He staggered, bracing his arms in front of his face. His own magic crackled across his skin, ready to defend himself.

What. The fuck?!

The invisible force vanished as quickly as it had come. Goku held up his hands in apology. “Oops, sorry. Guess I don’t know my own strength. Didn’t mean to scare ya,” he laughed.

_Laughed._

Panting, heart pounding like it hand’t done in centuries, Vegeta stared at Goku wide-eyed and struggled to make sense of the stunning show of power.

This farmer had done _that_?

_How?!_

“Who are you?” he demanded. A human couldn’t possibly possess that much energy. Not even the old mystics had been that strong. The only people with that show of force had been…Vegeta balked and crouched into a fighter’s pose, bringing his left hand before his face. “You’re working with Frieza.” It wasn’t a question, and he wasn’t playing nice anymore.

“Vegeta, wait!” Suicidal, the woman stepped in front of him and held up her hands in a placating manner. “He’s with me. He’s just a friend.”

Vegeta hated that she felt the need to repeat that, to rub that salt into his wound. “He’s no friend of mine,” he snarled back, his eyes locked over her shoulder at the threat.

“But I am, aren’t I?” she asked softly. “We’re friends?”

Vegeta’s gaze swung to her, more stunned than from Goku’s display of power.

She couldn’t be serious. Him, a friend? He had done things, terrible things. Started wars, plagues, ended civilizations and families and human progress, all for the whim of some greedy human. Oftentimes, he had enjoyed it.

He searched her soul-shattering blue eyes that somehow saw past all that, offering him a chance to redefine himself as more than his servitude and past deeds. A long-dead part of himself that had once sought belonging—now broken and covered in dust—stirred. Vegeta opened his mouth to reply when a flash of cold eyes and the vicious smile of his last master reminded him of what happened when he’d had ‘friends’.

He shoved the yearning part of himself down to a deeper place where she wouldn’t be able to dredge it up from again. “I don’t have friends. Only masters.”

A soft breeze whipped her blue tresses across sad eyes. “Vegeta…It doesn’t have to be that way.” She took a tiny step closer, approaching him like she might a wild animal. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I can free you, just like I did Goku.”

He couldn’t stop the confusion and surprise that ripped across his face. “…What?”

She took another small step. “I can help you. I helped Goku. He’s a djinn, like you.” She spoke slowly, kindly, spelling it out for him like she would a child. “I found him in his lamp when he was just a boy.” She tried to take another step closer, but he took one back, unable to process what she’d said.

“That’s not possible. Children weren’t put into lamps.” Vegeta heard himself say the words, but internally his voice was screaming, _HE IS SAIYA-DJINN, LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT HIM._ It was so obvious now. How had he not seen it before?

But how? They were all supposed to be dead. He was the last.

Frieza had seen to that.

She was oblivious to his internal crisis. “Well it’s true, however it happened. But that’s not really important. Didn’t you hear what I said? I know how to free you.”

He stared at her, at a total loss for words. Madly struggling to make sense of it all. He had no idea how to handle the torrent of emotions swirling inside him, crashing together in a crippling storm that left him weak-kneed. So he settled on the most familiar and comforting of them.

Rage.

“You _knew_?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “All this time you knew and didn’t tell me?” She had known what he was the _whole fucking time_. All her questions, all her pandering, it had been a fucking show. To play him. For what? Had she been laughing behind his back the whole day?

“Vegeta, I—”

No, fuck this, he didn’t want to hear it. He pointed at Goku and took a threatening step towards her. “Is _he_ the reason you won’t make any wishes?” he snarled, nearly butting his head to hers. “You’ve had another pet genie all this while? What was I, your fucking _backup_?”

Her blue eyes shimmered wetly. “It’s not like that, you jerk!”

“Then what’s it fucking like?” he roared.

“Bulma?” Goku took a protective step forwards.

She held out her hand to stop him. “It’s fine,” she said though she looked paler than usual. “He won’t hurt us.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Vegeta snapped. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed one of my own.” He took a step away from them both. “On second thoughts, keep your secrets, I don’t give a fuck.” He tried to ignore how the growing anguish on her face exacerbated his own. “Unless the next words coming out of your mouth are preceded with _I wish_ , I don’t care about anything you have to say to me.”

Steeling himself against the tremble of her chin, he raised his fingers to his brow and blipped out of existence.

 

~xox~

 


	10. Chapter 10

******~10~**

 

Vegeta materialized back at his lamp. It was, after all, the only place he could teleport to when not fulfilling a wish.

Still fuming from the events at the farm, he paced Bulma’s basement. Agitation sizzled across his skin, sticky and uncomfortable. He tore off the garments she had given him and magicked on his own, needing the familiarity of his uniform to settle his nerves.

His world was upside down. Little of what happened this day made any sense. A surviving djinn child? Freed of his lamp? And _her_. He didn’t know what to do with any of it, especially the heavy feeling of betrayal she evoked within him; alarming, given it meant that in a matter of mere hours he’d come to trust he9r. How the fuck had _that_ happened? How the fuck had he allowed it? Hadn’t he learned his lesson after his last master?

Frustration boiling over, Vegeta picked up his lamp and threw it across the room. Or tried to. His hands dissipated through the object. A genie could not possess his own lamp.

Breathing hard through his nose, he surveyed the room for a better target of his fury. There were many to be had. The room was filled with miscellany: tools, robotics, computers, scientific equipment and so on. An underground lab of the highest calibre.

_I am a genius, heiress and inventor to Capsule Corporation._

So, she hadn’t been lying about that.

However, where the majority of the room was filled with crisp whites and fancy electronics, a desk in a recessed corner at the far back was covered in old maps and yellowed books. Vegeta was drawn to it, spying a tome decorated in the cursive script of the djinn. He picked it up and brushed his thumbs along the ancient frayed leather and remnants of gold gilding. Cracking the book open, his nostrils filled with dust and weathered parchment. He was thrown back in time and space to the library of his father’s palace. He could almost smell the sand and carnations on the air. His heart squeezed painfully. Vegeta sank to a seat before the desk and ran his eyes over the melange of treasures Bulma had collected.

She had been doing her homework. There were resources from all over the world in various languages on mythology and history, all related to relics and magical treasures that supposedly granted wishes. Her handwritten notes were scrawled all over, translations and memos she had jotted down in her studies. There was a personal journal too. Flipping through those pages revealed a very young Bulma starting out on her adventures, looking for something called ‘the dragon balls’ until she accidentally encountered ‘a weird boy in a strange teapot’. The entries spanned years, and though they grew less frequent over time, they also grew more insightful as the woman writing them matured and honed her analytical mind. A lot of her notes ended with question marks or half-scratched out theories. The most recent entry read:

_Goku just returned from his year of training with that weird old hermit we tracked down. I know Chi Chi wasn’t happy to be parted from her husband for so long, but seeing how confident and in control Goku is now, I can tell it was a worthwhile sacrifice. It’s reassuring to know he’ll be less of a danger to himself and others. What’s more, Goku tells me the old man claims to know some lore about genies. Apparently there used to be many more, but now they’re almost extinct. This would explain why a lot of my research has turned up dead ends. And what’s more, the old man says he knows where an active lamp resides!_

_I’m chasing this one down on my own. Chi Chi isn’t going to let Goku out of her sights so soon again. Besides, it’ll probably just lead to another dead end like all the others. Still…it would be nice to finally get some real answers about where Goku came from. He said I could wait until he was available to help, but what if there IS another poor soul trapped in a lamp out there all alone like he was?_

Vegeta frowned and checked the date. It was fairly recent, but that didn’t make sense. She made it sound like she knew almost nothing of genies. Why hadn’t Goku told her everything?

Time slipped away from him as he lost himself reading all her notes and the scraps of history that remained of his people.

He felt her arrival before he heard her enter the room. Tensing, he didn’t look up, letting her make the first move.

“I’m sorry.”

His mouth thinned and he set the journal down, turning to face her. Bulma looked more composed than when he’d left her, a serious expression on her face which he met with his own. He did not want nor care for an apology.

“I got excited and didn’t think about how all this might affect you,” she continued when he said nothing. “It’s just…we don’t really know much about where Goku came from. When I found him as a boy…he wasn’t right.”

Vegeta raised a questioning brow.

Her expression turned troubled. “He was quite feral. Turns out, no one had ever released him from the lamp until just before I came along.”

Vegeta let that sink in. “You’re telling me a _child_ was trapped in the void of the lamp, unsocialized, for millennia?”

She nodded.

His brow pulled down. The lamp was not for the faint of heart. It could wear down even the most disciplined of adult minds. To think what such a place could do to a child and for so long…No wonder Goku was a little _off_. It was remarkable he could function at all.

“Luckily, a kind old man found him and helped raise him,” Bulma explained. “He taught Goku, helped temper him. But Goku had lost all his memories — if he ever had any to begin with. He doesn’t know who he was or where he came from, and he had very little control or understanding over his abilities. He ended up killing the old man by accident. I found him shortly after.”

Vegeta frowned. “Djinn cannot kill their masters.”

She shrugged. “Well, I don’t think it was on purpose. I’m just telling you what Goku told me. If you want more details you’ll have to ask him.”

Vegeta was in no hurry to do that. It still chaffed him to think that Bulma had another djinn to call on. And the story was still hard to believe. “If Goku is a genie like you claim, how is it that he’s aged?”

She blinked, her brow furrowing. “Er…Should he not have?”

“No,” Vegeta replied flatly. “Once bound to a lamp, genies are immortal. Ageless, unchanging.”

“Huh, that does make sense…Maybe freeing him undid that? I don’t really know, _that’s_ my point. There’s so much about all this we don’t know. That’s why I sought you out. We need answers to better understand who Goku is.”

“Tch. And why should I care?” He snapped, unable to keep the churlish tone from his voice.

“Because he’s one of your own,” she pleaded, stepping closer towards him. “And because I can help you too in the process.”

“I did not ask for any help.”

“Oh please, like you’d _ever_ ask,” she countered with a heavy eye-roll.

His cheek ticked. She was too good at reading him. Best to steer the conversation back to something less personal. “You could have just wished for me to give you the knowledge you sought.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “And use you like some slave. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m really not into that.”

He huffed and looked away. “Who are you kidding? Whether you ask me nicely or command it, makes no difference. Either way I’m stuck at your side until you’ve gotten what you want from me.”

“That’s not true,” she blurted out, her cheeks flushing with indignation. “Have I once forced you to do anything? You could have left any time you liked. I told you again and again that I don’t want any wishes, but you’re the one who keeps insisting on them!”

He turned towards her, lips peeling back to reveal white canines. “Because I have no choice! I cannot leave until you’ve made your damn wishes.”

“…Oh.” She blinked, looking genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

“Tch. Typical ignorant human,” he grouched, crossing his arms.

“Well to be fair, you never made that very clear.”

“It’s never been _necessary_ before,” he ground out with exasperation.

With that out in the open, the rising tension in the room fizzled away. She pursed her lips in thought. “Okay, so…I, Bulma Briefs, officially release you of your wish granting duties.” She waved her hands strangely in the air.

He felt a vein in his temple throb. “ _What_ are you doing?”

Her arms paused mid-air. “Um, freeing you of your obligations?”

“…You can’t be serious.”

She dropped her hands to rest on her hips, growing pink. “It was worth a shot.”

His eyebrow winged. “And you’re supposed to be a genius?”

“Well I don’t see _you_ coming up with any better ideas.”

“I’ve already _told_ you my idea. Make your three wishes.”

“I don’t think so, bub. We’re doing this the good ol’ fashioned way.”

Fucking _great_.

He glared at her, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. Bulma was even struggling not smile and he found to his surprise that he was doing the same. He huffed and tried to get a better handle over his emotions, but that all fell apart as she came closer towards him.

“I never meant to upset you, Vegeta. I really do want to help you, and Goku.” When he grimaced at the other djinn’s name, she hurriedly pled her case. “Please, try to imagine what it was like for him going his whole life never knowing who he was or where he came from.”

A stillness washed over him as he put himself in Goku’s shoes, never having to endure the eternity within the lamp with the faces of those he’d failed haunting him day and night. Never having to grant the wishes of his masters while his own wish went forever unfulfilled.

Color and warmth bled away, leaving Vegeta cold and empty. His fingers tightened painfully on his arms. “Tch. Then he had it easy. Better to be left in the dark than to know _exactly_ who you are and what you lost, knowing you were _too weak_ to stop it from being taken from you.” He glared resentfully at the floor, mouth thinning and tasting of ash.

She closed the gap between them, stopping just a whisper away to put her hands on his. Her fingers were so delicate and pale, her touch cool and soft. With a gentle tug she pulled on his hands, and after a moment’s hesitation, he allowed her to take them.

“Hmm.” She turned his palms up for inspection. “Seem like good, strong, capable hands to me. If they couldn’t stop something from happening, it was of no fault of their own, or their owner. Sometimes, the other guy is just stronger.”

Her words struck him in a way he didn’t think capable, slicing through centuries of guilt and self-reproach, ripping off the badly healed scab of his loss and letting it finally air. He swallowed thickly, momentarily overcome, and stared at their hands lest she see the crumbling emotion in his eyes.

Her thumbs soothingly rubbed over his palms, and he fixated on the sensation to keep himself from falling apart.

 

~xox~

 


End file.
